Dragonborn
by meisterkidd
Summary: Tharin's life had been fairly normal but, spurned by a sudden dragon attack on his home town and rumors of vampires attacking wantonly, he sets out for adventure with a very unlikely companion. ***Contains SOME spoilers***
1. Prologue

The sun set in a blazing display of red and gold as the breeze tugged gently at the tails of the velvet cloak. Blue eyes, unnaturally blue, peered out from beneath the ebon colored hood, the snow white complexion contrasting starkly against the deep richness of the black and a small smile tugged at the corners of the crimson lips. Carefully, long, slender fingers brushed the hood back, and her strawberry curls fell loose from the hold, framing her rounded face. This was her domain, created with precise magic like a master craftsman works with wood or steel.


	2. Dovahkiin

His short black hair dripped a couple of beads of sweat as he labored tirelessly on the armor he was crafting, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, the hammer clanging rhythmically like primitive music- primal and unerring. Finally he stopped, raising one calloused hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead and he lifted the armor to inspect it. Now it was time for the finer details- the intricate engraving he was famous for. His stomach growled though, and he took a brief break to eat something and found his mind wandering.

Rumors had been flying around since Ulfric had killed the king- some more outlandish than others, but one thing was certain… civil war was breaking out all over Skyrim. He didn't really want to choose a side though. There were points on each side that he agreed with, and he felt it was better if he avoided picking either side. As if that wasn't enough, people had been chattering about vampires attacking people wantonly and it was apparent that was a growing menace as well. Seemed everything was going to Oblivion and things were bound to get worse.

Sighing, he slid his plate away when a loud crash outside and the very earth shuttering brought him out of his thoughts. A roar echoed and he could hear people screaming, the hold's guards yelling for everyone to get inside and a deep, throaty, booming voice echoing a single, unknown word: "Yol!"

Without a single thought, he grabbed the ebony claymore and jerked the door open in time to see shimmering green scales, monstrous wings and fire engulfing the store across from him. For a moment, he stood awestruck but the sound of a child's scream jerked him violently back into reality and he saw the little girl standing in front of the enormous maw of the dragon as it roared again. Tears streamed down her face and he couldn't stand there and let her be killed in front of him. His feet launched him forward, his muscular legs carrying him as fast as they could and he lunged, snatching up the little girl as the jaws snapped closed where she had been standing.

Enraged, the dragon inhaled and again there was the loud, booming voice as fire just missed him and he held her tightly, covering her small form and shielding her from the violent blast of flame. A guard distracted the dragon momentarily and he looked at the little girl. "When I let you go, you need to run as fast as you can. Find a hiding place and _do not move _from it. Do you understand?"

She nodded and he got up, yelling at the dragon as he ran to the side, distracting it as she ran as fast as she could away from the danger. He wasn't thinking at this point. He was moving on sheer instinct and when the dragon lunged at him he finally swung the massive sword, slashing the inside of the dragon's face and shoving the blade as deep as he could into the roof of its gigantic mouth. It reared up and then fell before him in an anticlimactic death, leaving him standing in the road, splattered with deep crimson blood, the blade dripping the same thick red blood onto the dirt below it.

And there he stood in the middle of the street, mouth agape, staring in shock at the slain dragon before him, body igniting, burning until nothing but bone remained. And then there was a strange sound that resembled wind and odd blue and pale orange lights began to swirl around him and into him. He wasn't sure what was happening, but people had begun to gather around him and finally the wife of the general store's owner spoke up.

"It is just like the stories…" she said aghast, "…dragonborn…"

"What?" he asked baffled and still in shock.

"You're dragonborn…" she said and then her face paled. "If there's one then there are bound to be more. You must tell the Jarl of this!"

He nodded, put his armor on and left. It didn't take him long to reach Whiterun, and quickly he made his way to Dragonsreach. The steward stopped him only briefly and then had him speak to the Jarl personally. He told him what little he knew of the attack, and what the people had said afterwards. The Jarl didn't pay much attention to the minor details, instead sending him to speak to the court wizard who requested he seek a stone tablet from a catacomb near Riverwood.

As he was leaving, he was stopped by an orc and he listened to what he had to say. Apparently the Dawnguard was searching for people to help eradicate the vampires and he looked the type to hold his own against them. The orc suggested, when he had time, that he go to Fort Dawnguard and he agreed.

* * *

Getting the tablet was a little more difficult than he had anticipated. He hadn't expected the tomb to be so overrun with draugr, but it didn't take him long to discover just how weak they really were. He approached the inner sanctum, the last draugr slain, and grabbed the tablet. He'd turned to leave, but in his head he could hear chanting and he looked over his shoulder. Behind him was a large, rounded wall with strange carvings in it, and a small fragment of the odd writing was glowing brilliantly blue. Curiosity won, and he walked over to the wall.

His vision dimmed greatly and for a moment he felt as though he was going blind, the only thing visible was blue coming off of the wall. He could hear the chanting louder and the sound of distant wind. After a moment, his vision returned and he felt strange, as if he'd just learned some ancient knowledge and he reached up to brush his fingers against the wall. Apprehensively he turned again and didn't look back as he left.

He took the tablet back to Farengar and then left for The Rift and Fort Dawnguard. The trip was easy and he made good time, but passed the entrance to Dayspring Canyon several times before he finally spied it and slipped in. It was beautiful and quiet inside, save for a few song birds singing in the early morning hours. He took his time to enjoy the scenery and then, finally, Fort Dawnguard, in all its magnificent glory, came into view. It was huge, stone spires reaching high into the sky and though it was touched by time, it still stood tall and strong against the sky and the canyon.

He approached the door and was directed inside to talk to Isran. First impressions of Isran left little to be desired, but nothing said he had to like the guy- he just had to work with him. He was talking to a Vigilant of Stendarr and they appeared to be having a bit of a disagreement- one that he opted to stay out of. Finally, after a few softer words from Isran, Isran turned to him.

"You, who are you?"

"Tharin, sir." He replied plainly.

"Very well, Tharin, I need you to go to this tomb and find out what the vampires were scavenging for. Hopefully they'll still be there."

The Vigilant then turned to Tharin. "I'll show you where it was on the map."

* * *

It took Tharin almost a day and a half to find the obscure tomb the Vigilant had been talking about and another several hours to fight his way towards the inner sanctum and it was almost too quiet when he got there. Stealthily, he made his way towards the center of the large room, only to be swarmed with several vampires at once. He fought hard and took two down, only to have the others fight back even harder. He wasn't sure where it came from, or even what it was but as they closed in on him, he heard his own voice bellowing.

"FUS!" he shouted, and they staggered.

He didn't stop to consider the convenience at that point. He only acted and was able to dispatch them while they tried to recover. Once they were all dead, he finally took a moment to look around the room. It was a huge room, deep in the tombs and there was a large, circular platform in the middle with the symbol of the school of conjuration in the very center, and a small groove in the stone towards a northern pillar. He followed the groove in the floor and brushed his fingers against the pillar absently, trying to figure out what they had fought so hard to protect. At first nothing happened, but as he lay his hand on the stone once more, a spike shot out and pierced his hand through and through, the blood dripping down the polished column and down into the groove.

The thick crimson liquid moved slowly towards the shape of the conjuration symbol and he watched curiously, for the moment forgetting about the pain in his hand. Once the symbol filled with a thin layer of blood, there was a loud crack and it began to glow a gentle blue. His head tilted to the side and he stepped forward onto the blue glow and then everything went black.

When his vision returned, he was seated on the ground, dazed and somewhat confused. It was sunset and he was outside, sitting on soft grass and staring at a monstrous mansion before him. He could hear a soft growl and he reached for his sword as he stood and stepped forward towards the monstrous mahogany doors and there, on the steps, stood a grotesque looking dog. Its lips were pulled back in a perpetual snarl, its black fur matted along its body. It was stocky and a few traces of jet black smoke swirled around it like a vile, visible aura. It never made a movement towards him, however, instead moving out of his way as he approached the door. Further confused, he sheathed his sword and the dog merely looked up at him and wandered off.

Gingerly, he placed a hand upon the door, which was slightly ajar, likely from the dog being let out, and pushed it the rest of the way open. At first the home seemed empty and he called out to the owner. "Hello?"

"Greetings," a dulcet female voice replied causing him to jump.

He searched only for a moment for the source of the voice and then his eyes met with a set of brilliant blue eyes, glowing in the dim light. He thought he caught sight of a warm smile hidden beneath strawberry curls before she conjured a flame and lit a few candles. When light finally shown he was fully able to take in the Nord woman before him, her curvy figure accented in deep black leather with intricate silver inlay and burgundy linen shirt. Her pale face was round, the deep blue eyes watching him intently as she motioned for him to have a seat.

"Welcome to my home." She said with a soft smile that genuinely lit her eyes. "It's been a long time since I've been blessed with the opportunity to speak with someone other than my dogs."

His eyes narrowed wearily and she smiled again, bowing her head. "Don't be apprehensive. There is no threat here."

"What is this place?" Tharin asked.

"This is my home." She said; her tone light. "Though I suspect you mean more specifically the area in which we both stand." He nodded and she continued. "This place is my supreme creation. It doesn't lie on your plain- there's more to it than that. Perhaps some history is in order? Very well, I studied magic religiously for a very, _very _long time. I mastered few of the schools, but conjuration was my forte. Through my studies I discovered that there are far more plains than many had thought. There is Oblivion, of course, and the many different plains that holds, the mortal world, and Sovngarde as well; but there are others as well- untouched, unshaped by mortal or godlike hands. Not only did I find a way to access my own little hamlet which we see before us, but I also found a way to shape it. This is my ultimate pride and joy."

He couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, but her explanation left him with more questions than answers. She could see the confusion written obviously on his face and another gentle smile touched her lips. "Perhaps we should start at the beginning?" again he nodded and again she continued. "I am Freya, welcome to my home."

"I'm Tharin," he said, his voice quiet.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Tharin. What brings a warrior to my home?"

He sat down and told her everything he knew and then posed a question of his own. "I'm assuming they're searching for you. Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders slightly and raised a hand casually. "Only they and the gods know why at this point, dragonborn."

"What did you say?" his eyes narrowed again suspiciously.

"You don't think I didn't hear when you used your voice did you?" she asked earnestly. "The Thu'um reached even here, though I suspect that it was because you were so close to the portal."

"But how do you know that I am dragonborn? Surely there are others that can do that too."

"I suspect very little has changed since I left Tamriel. I would imagine that they Greybeards are still the only ones who have mastered the Thu'ums and are not of dragon blood, and if my suspicion is correct, they're probably still up in High Hrothgar keeping themselves out of the conflicts far below their mountain. Therefore, logic states, you're not one of them and haven't been turned to 'the way of the voice' yet so you must be dragonborn."

She had him there and he knew it but he still had so many questions. "What does it mean to be dragonborn? And why were the vampires looking for you?"

"The first question is simple," she said with a warm, strangely comforting smile. "To be dragonborn means to have dragon's blood flowing through your veins. That's about all there is to that, since dragons hadn't been seen on Tamriel for a very long time even when I left and in fact the second question is probably just as simple- they're looking for my Elder Scroll."

His head jerked back up, his gaze squaring with hers. "You have an Elder Scroll?"

"I do. I brought it with me so that daft old fool wouldn't get his hands on it."

"Who? Why?" he was stammering at this point. He felt like his head was going to explode.

"Harkon." She said, her tone turning venomous and then something dawned on her. "You don't know, do you?"

He was getting frustrated with her at this point. "Know _what?"_

Her laugh was quiet and his teeth and fists clenched, which immediately reminded him of the wound in his hand and he held it discreetly. Kindly, she stood and held out her hand, perceptive as she was, and healed the wound before she took a deep breath and continued. "I suppose it stands to reason that it would not be so easily noticed- I don't share many of the traits the others do. Most recognize vampires by their eyes, but for some reason I kept my blue eyes while everyone else's changed to a golden color."

"Wait… you… you're a…?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I'm a vampire. I figured you knew."

"The Dawnguard would want me to kill you."

She shrugged again and walked over to a window to look outside, completely unaffected by his statement. "It never comes down to what others expect of us." She said placidly. "Everything we do is our own choice."

"How long have you been here?" he asked quietly.

She inhaled deeply and considered for a moment. "I lost count of the years. What year is it in Tamriel?"

"Fourth era, year two hundred and one."

"I cannot say for certain an exact amount of years." She stated, "But I came here near the beginning of the Alessian Empire at the suggestion of Harkon's wife."

"Why?" Tharin asked.

Her laugh was bitter. "Because that fool would lead us to our doom. He was obsessed with a prophecy and Valerica and I couldn't risk everything for his foolish ideals. I suppose he is the reason they're searching for me now. In fact they're probably looking for any Daughter of Coldharbour. I certainly hope Valerica and her daughter are safe…"

"Can you leave this place?"

"I can."

He hesitated. "Can you come with me to tell the Dawnguard?"

She shrugged and put a few strange potions in a satchel, grabbed two daggers, a bow and a quiver of arrows, and her cloak, then sighed. "If they've found where I hid the portal here, then they're likely close to finding the secret to open it. It'd only be a matter of time before I had to return to Tamriel anyway. And here I thought I was clever when I created that portal."

* * *

Tharin returned to Fort Dawnguard with Freya in tow. Once Isran found out that she was a vampire, he exploded in rage, demanding to know what Tharin was thinking. He hardly gave him a chance to answer for quite a few minutes, berating him for his carelessness and referring to her as "it" which she easily overlooked with the patience of a saint. Once he was out of breath, she took the opportunity to speak up and explain exactly what it was that Harkon was looking for, intentionally omitting any mention of the Elder Scroll in her possession, which she left hidden in a secret room in her house, guarded by numerous death hounds and deadly spells and traps. Isran only glared at her for a moment and then turned back to Tharin.

He had taken a deep breath. likely to go off on another tangent when a very loud, very clear voice shouted from on high, the word echoing in everyone's ears.

"DOVAHKIIN!"

"What in Oblivion was that?" one of the other Dawnguard members stammered. Even Isran looked confused and Freya simply stood, patiently looking at the black leather gloves she wore.

Irritated and confused, Isran walked off to, she supposed, figure out a new plan of action to deal with the vampires. Tharin then looked to her.

"What was that?" he asked.

"The Greybeards are summoning you to High Hrothgar." She said simply. "Guess they heard you use the Thu'um too."

"What do they want?"

She smiled. "More than likely, they want to train you. Then again, they probably want to talk you into sitting up there atop their mountain while the world falls apart. We may as well go investigate."


	3. Freya's Secret

Freya's cloak whipped in the bitter wind, jerked and tugged as if by an invisible force trying to pull her off the mountain. She, like Tharin, was mostly unaffected by the brutally cold temperatures but the long trek annoyed her and she could tell he was too focused on actually making it up the mountain to really care for conversation, or perhaps he was thinking over what Isran had said to him. Or perhaps he was just annoyed like she was. It didn't matter much to her either way. After all, it seemed they were almost to the top- High Hrothgar could be seen in the distance now.

They ascended the final steps and approached the large doors. Tharin seemed to hesitate, but she reached up, narrow, gloved fingers opening the door so she could get in out of the wind. Tharin followed her inside and she closed the door to the cold and turned to look at the monastery where the Greybeards lived. The main room was large and rather plain. A few of the old monks, dressed in grey robes, sat on the floor and there were a couple of offshoots into smaller sections of the ancient building. One of them approached the two of them and spoke, introducing himself.

Even Freya was surprised as she watched the exchange between the Greybeard Arngeir, even as he and the others taught Tharin a few words of power, including another word of Unrelenting Force: Ro, and the first word of Whirlwind Sprint. She sat back as he time and again demonstrated his mastery of their Thu'ums. Once he had proven himself, they gave him a task- he was to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller. They showed him on his map where the horn should be located and sent them on their way to fetch it for them.

* * *

They made their way towards Ustengrav and Freya remained silent. Her keen hearing had picked up on something that not even Tharin had heard yet. It was the sound of a deafening roar and people shouting and fighting in the distance. Tharin continued on obliviously, but a hand on his shoulder after a few more moments and a motion for quiet brought him to a standstill. She pulled him off to the side of the road, in some brush and squatted down and watched.

On the road, ahead of them, were a group of vampires fighting and then the sound of the bellow as the large wings spread wide and the dragon again took flight, strafing the small group of vampires with fire. Tharin started to bolt towards the fighting but her firm grip on his shoulder stopped him again and she motioned for him to stay. A few of the vampires fled and the dragon flew over, catching sight of the duo hidden in the brush. They narrowly avoided the flames and scattered as the shout of "Yol!" echoed off the rocks and fire ignited the dry grass.

Both of them had drawn their weapons and Freya used her supernatural reflexes to dodge as the beast landed and launched a melee attack at her, its gaping maw just missing her by mere inches, its hot breath brushing against her skin. The two of them flanked it and for a moment it was unsure who to attack as Tharin slashed mercilessly at its wing. It raised its monstrous head and inhaled and Freya lunged, plunging her blades deep into the soft throat, effectively silencing it as she twisted and sliced repeatedly.

The monster fell before them and she stood, covered in its blood as it ignited, burning down until nothing but bone remained. Again Tharin heard that same sound and closed his eyes as he felt the warmth flowing into him. For a moment more, he stood there, trying to wrap his mind around what had happened and then he opened his eyes to see Freya further up the trail, squatted down and watching, silent as the grave. She didn't seem at all surprised about what had happened, though he suspected if she were, it was hidden behind the stoic façade he'd come to expect from her.

He walked towards her and she held up a hand, motioning for him to stay low and quiet. Carefully he made his way closer, knelt down and looked towards the direction she was watching so carefully. Up ahead was the group of vampires, smaller now and they were approaching a small caravan of travelling merchants. Much to his surprise, it was Freya that spoke. She leaned in close to him and he felt himself tense as her breath touched his throat.

"We should stop them…" she whispered quietly.

"But… _you're_ a vampire…" he whispered back.

"I don't attack anything that moves wantonly." She replied flatly, her voice holding a slight note of venom. "They have no control; they're feral and just carry a disease."

He nodded, her tone sending him reeling a little as she stood, calling attention to the other group. It was enough too- they abandoned the merchants and came running towards the two of them. He didn't really notice her move as he ran towards the group, but the whistle of the arrow as it sailed past his head and into the throat of their enemy gave him pause as the vampire dropped. Another whistled past him and sank deep into the forehead, dropping another. Casually, she threw the bow back over her shoulder, and lunged at the others. They were no match for either Freya or Tharin, so weak, she surmised, from hunger that they really hadn't had fight in them to begin with, and so the battle ended quickly and they stood over the corpses looking down at them.

"They were too weak from hunger to be any real challenge," she explained, picking up on his unasked questions. "It's that simple. They're not _real _vampires- just disease carrying pests. They have no control over their actions and put the rest of us at risk."

"Doesn't hunger affect you, too, though?" he asked.

"You've seen my little creation. Did you see any mortal beings there?"

"No…"

"I have lived for a long time and never have I fed on the blood of mortals." She sighed and glanced at him. "I resent being compared to them. Hunger does not rule me as it does them."

He nodded and they continued on.

* * *

It was a fairly easy feat to sneak into Ustengrav, and even easier once they let the draugr and mages kill each other off, picking off the left overs with a few well-placed shots from bows and arrows to take out the rest and the catacombs weren't as expansive as one would think. It didn't take them long to reach the innermost room and the remaining draugr fell to sword and bow and they were left to grab the horn. There was only one issue with the plan- the horn was nowhere to be found. In its place was a single piece of parchment.

_Dragonborn—_

_I need to speak to you. Urgently._

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you._

_-A friend_

The two shared a look and Freya toyed with the note absently between her index and middle fingers, twirling it around as they considered. "Someone's a step ahead of you." She stated simply.

"Wonder what they want." Tharin countered.

There again was that musical laugh. "Isn't it obvious? They want to speak with you."

_That_ fact was quite obvious, but that was hardly what he had meant and he opened his mouth to clarify when he caught the playful gleam in her brilliant cerulean eyes and it dawned on him. She wasn't quite as indifferent as she'd first seemed. They left the tomb and something finally occurred to Tharin as the two made their way towards Riverwood.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmhm." She replied.

"Why are you following me?" he inquired.

At first his ambiguous question confused her, and it was plainly written on her slight frown, but her logical mind immediately made clear what he was trying to say. "It's been a while since I've been around people." She smiled. "Well… that and things aren't quiet around you. I enjoyed my peace while I lived in my home, but things get dull after a while… and my death hounds aren't exactly one for conversation."

* * *

They had reached Riverwood in a reasonable amount of time and found out that the person who stole the horn was a blade- one of the few left in existence. She, too, wanted to test the dragonborn and so they'd set off for one of the dragon burial sites. When they got there, Alduin was already there and resurrecting the dragon buried there. With the three of them, it was easy enough to dispatch the monster and it seemed that he was finally going to get the answers he sought. She explained what she knew of the dragonborn and his destiny. She didn't have all of his answers, but she returned the horn to him and they were able to return it to High Hrothgar where it belonged. The whole trip, Tharin remained lost in thought and, Freya thought, it seemed fitting. It was quite a bit to take in all at once after all.

It was on their way up the obnoxiously long steps towards High Hrothgar that things went a little sideways, disrupting the rather peaceful trip since they'd fought the dragon in Kynesgrove. Another one sought to attack them and brazenly landed before them, the frost breath just missing them as they dodged and attacked together, almost as if the whole thing had been carefully choreographed. The dragon itself, was not what made things awkward, however. It was what happened after it fell that made things difficult.

Out of breath, Freya stood facing the monster as it began the normal ritual of igniting and burning to bone, but as the pale orange and blue lights again began to shine, they did not go towards Tharin like they should have. Much the opposite, they began to surge around and into Freya and despite her trying to stumble backwards and avoid them, it did not take long for her to absorb the dragon's soul as Tharin had done twice now in her company and nervously she bit her lip and glanced towards his shocked face. She had been standing too close to it, carelessly.

He stammered but all he managed to get out was "How?"

She sighed and hung her head. "You're not the first, you know." She stated lifelessly. "Nor are you the only one. I know the words of power, but I can't teach you like the Greybeards can, but I can still help."

It was clear that she had mistaken his confusion for anger. She didn't lift her head, nor did she speak the rest of the way up the mountain, despite his attempt to strike up a conversation and get some answers. Once they'd returned the horn, the Greybeards taught him the final word of Unrelenting Force, Dah, and performed a ritual that formally recognized him as dragonborn. Through the whole thing, Freya stood far off to the side, watching but not really seeing anything.

When they were done, he approached her again but she barely acknowledged him. He spoke anyway, knowing she could hear him, despite being passive and silent. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't think it would come up." She said; her voice robotic and emotionless. "When I came back with you, I was under the impression that dragons had long been gone from this land."

"And after the first dragon?"

"I moved far away so you'd get the soul. I hardly need them and it didn't seem relevant."

"Are you dragonborn as well?"

She nodded but offered no further explanation so he continued. "Did you see Alduin before?"

She shook her head no. "I was born after the dragon wars. I explored a lot, and found the word walls that you now learn most of the shouts from."

"And then you became a vampire and shut yourself away from the world…"

She nodded. "I am sorry I didn't tell you. Everyone now looks to you as a hero. I doubt they'd feel the same about me."

"I don't know why you're apologizing." He said with a shrug. "So what do we do now?"

"I guess we are attending a party… unless you want to go alone."


	4. Good Times, Bad Times

Freya had the upper hand when it was time for them to head inside the Thalmor embassy. Where Tharin needed an invitation, Freya's seductive nature came into play- something she ruefully used just to weasel her way inside without an invitation and even Tharin couldn't help but notice the change. He couldn't put his finger on it. She wasn't wearing anything different than she normally did, but something about her aura exuded something that he found rather distracting under the circumstances and it was that very thing that kept even the females at the party from questioning whether or not she belonged there. It also kept the guards from searching her like they did Tharin. She did the talking to Elenwyn while he spoke to Malborn.

When Malborn's apprehensiveness showed, however, Freya took things into her own hands. She listened briefly to everyone and spied a man sitting on a bench, obviously drunk and complaining about being cut off. Slyly she snuck over to the bar, grabbed a bottle of Black-Briar Mead and walked over to him, her voice sultry and seductive when she spoke to him.

"You don't seem to be enjoying the party, friend."

"They've cut me off!" he slurred. "I didn't realish there were sho many prudesh here!"

"Well that is a shame!" she feigned surprise. "It's just not a party if you're not having fun. I say 'to oblivion with that'. Here, a gift from me to you."

"Awe! You're a shaint!" he took the mead and drank deeply from the bottle and hiccuped. "If there'sh anything… _anything_ I can do for you… you… you come find me."

"There is one small favor I could ask of you, friend." Her smile was as sweet as honey and she met him eye to eye. "Do you think you could cause a scene for me?"

He agreed and then immediately called everyone's attention to himself, slurring out insults and in general causing a raucous while she slipped back over to Malborn and Tharin, a faint trace of disgust painted on her face. Once everyone was effectively distracted, Malborn lead them through the kitchen, told Tharin where to find his things and locked the door behind him before people started to question.

For all the talk about the Thalmor, Tharin and Freya discovered two things while in the embassy: that the Thalmor were quite weak and easily dispatched, and that they were as curious about the dragons as everyone else. It wasn't long at all before they were returning to Delphine with the lack of news, Malborn in tow as well as a prisoner the Thalmor had held captive.

Freya shared some of the spoils she had taken from the Thalmor embassy, most of which Tharin hadn't noticed her taking, and the two of them made their way to Windhelm, far away from the reach of the Imperials and the Thalmor.

* * *

Delphine left to consider their next move and they were, for the moment, left to do their own thing and Tharin found himself wondering about what Freya had done in the embassy, and also if she'd always been that way and he simply hadn't noticed or if it was some power she only used when needed. He glanced at her and couldn't help but note that she still seemed the same as she had in the embassy. He opened his mouth to ask, but only closed it again.

"You keep staring at me." She said bewildered. "What's wrong? Do I have blood on me or something?"

In truth, she did still have traces of blood splattered on her clothing, but that was not what he was thinking about. His mouth worked before his mind, however, and he blurted out his question and immediately, embarrassed, wished he could take it back. "What'd you do to the people in the party?"

An eyebrow raised and she laughed faintly. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't have an invitation, you are armed to the teeth… quite… quite literally actually, and no one even questioned you. I got patted down and still feel violated."

"Ah…" a wicked grin touched her lips now. "It's an inherent vampire trait, though usually I try to suppress it."

"So you can… turn it off?" it was clear Tharin was utterly confused now.

She looked almost mystified at his meaning and tilted her head slightly. "Turn it… off?"

"Well… is it like magic where you use it when you want it or is it… something else?"

"It's… well to 'turn it off' I usually just suppress my natural aura... but it's... well it's always there... kind of." She was struggling to explain and it was obvious. It'd be easier if she knew exactly what he was asking, but his questions were general and not really to the point. Finally she countered his question with one of her own. "Why are you asking?"

"Because it… I…" inwardly she couldn't help but laugh at his awkwardness, but she forced down her own embarrassment with practiced precision as he strenuously tried to form a sentence. Finally a frown touched his face and he pointedly stated exactly what the problem was. "If you can turn it off, I think you forgot to."

Freya found it impossible to hide the blush, though the moonless night concealed it well enough for her. "Ah… I… didn't forget, Tharin. I have suppressed it as best I could since Malborn lead us through the kitchen to the main portion of the embassy."

He blinked twice and stared, slightly set aback. "Oh…" was all he managed to say.

* * *

The trip back to Whiterun was slightly awkward for both Freya and Tharin and both of them opted to avoid conversation even until they both sat down at Tharin's kitchen table and finally got a moment's rest to recap everything that had happened. While Tharin ate, Freya finally broke the silence and broached the subject that neither one of them had even thought about until that moment.

"I think," she said quietly, "That Delphine is more interested in a grudge against the Thalmor than actually finding exactly what has happened that brought the dragons back."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I understand that the Blades were essentially wiped out by the Thalmor, but dragons are immortal beings. They're not so easily going to be swayed by the elves. It makes no sense and I don't know that she can necessarily see past her grudge on this matter."

"Do you have any ideas?" he inquired curiously.

"Well, I'm fairly familiar with the lore." She replied offhandedly. "I know the stories I heard when I was a child."

"Do you remember anything specific about the stories?"

"Well, supposedly Alduin, the World-Eater, was defeated by a shout, but I don't know if that's true."

"It's worth a shot." Tharin said, thoughtfully. "But for now we should relax. We've done a lot recently. We deserve it. Can vampires still… drink and eat normal food?"

She laughed and nodded.

* * *

Who would've imagined vampires could still get hangovers too? Freya certainly wouldn't have, but there she sat, feeling ill and holding her head, every candle in the house put out. Even the fire pit was doused for the moment while she tried to nurse the pounding in her head. It had been far too long since she'd had mead. She was regretting it now.

She didn't hear the door open. She was too out of it and by the time she realized someone was in the house, she had a dagger to her back and before she could do anything the blade sunk deep and she could feel the warm thick ooze of her own blood running down her skin underneath her clothing. She staggered to her feet and lunged but the figure was already gone and her vision was darkening. She swayed only for a moment and then dropped to her knees on the floor and grasped at the grave wound and then everything went black.


	5. Touch of Death

Tharin heard a soft thud downstairs and roused out of bed, looking around. The whole house was black as pitch and he couldn't see a thing. He called out to Freya to see what was going on, and something knotted in his stomach when he received no reply. He tried to force himself to see as he fumbled for something to light a candle and finally, after a few embarrassing moments, he managed to get a candle lit. He looked around the top floor and then headed downstairs and what he saw made his heart stop.

There, lying face down on the floor in a pool of blood, lay Freya. She looked even more pale than usual and he immediately thought the worst. Frantically, he raced over and set the candle holder on the table and knelt by her side, looking for the source of the blood. It didn't take him long to find the stab in her back, still oozing blood. He quickly added pressure to the wound and rolled her over. She was breathing, but it was hardly noticeable.

He was torn between fury and sorrow as he laid her back on the floor gently and tore his house apart looking for her satchel. She loved her magic and he knew her to be an alchemist. Surely she had to have some sort of potion or concoction to help now. He rummaged around in the dark back room of the house, having forgotten the candle and eventually his hands touched the satchel. He ripped it open and several small bottles fell onto the ground. Most of them were labeled and contained everything from poisons to magicka potions. When he was starting to feel that sinking feeling, his hands landed on a single other bottle. It wasn't labeled like the others, but the flask was clear, filled with a deep crimson liquid and sealed with an intricately designed cork. He didn't know what was in it, but he found himself praying to the gods that it didn't make things worse as he ran back into the main room where she lay.

* * *

Freya felt so tired and it was so dark. She remembered the pain as the dagger had sunk into her back, and she fought to keep from going back to that. She wanted no part of it and withdrew deep into the recesses of her own mind. Somewhere, in the distance, she could hear a faint thud, sporadically, with long intervals of silence in between… too long it seemed. It annoyed her. She wanted it to be quiet. She tried to tune it out, and for a while, she thought she had. There it was again- just the faintest thud.

She couldn't tune it out, but she could ignore it. She thought back to when she made her own little home in her own little realm. It seemed, somehow, so far away now and she didn't really want to go back there. It was too quiet; too peaceful for someone like her. She wanted something more but it just didn't seem worth the effort to do anything. The silence was deafening her in between the periodic thuds and she pushed herself further away from all of it.

Then her mind wandered elsewhere and for the first time she wondered, absently, where she was truly going to go. Was she truly cursed to Molag Bal's plain of Oblivion? Or had she redeemed herself? Maybe she would be taken to Sovngarde. She'd heard it was beautiful there, though no one could really give a description of it, as only the dead go there. Therefore, it seemed anything she'd heard of Sovngarde was purely conjecture.

* * *

His hands trembled as he first tried putting the liquid on her wound to no avail and then rolled her back over and held the phial to her lips. Tharin poured only a small amount of it into her mouth and choked when he saw it drip out of the corners of her lips. He thought quickly and lifted her head, laying it on his leg and pouring in more. This time, once the phial was empty, he held her mouth closed and massaged her throat, hoping against hope that it would be enough. He'd wasted more than he had cared to. He then lifted her up and held her close and prayed as the delicate glass tinkled lightly on the floor and rolled away.

* * *

That dull thud had faded for a time and she'd been able to drown it out with the most random thoughts she'd been able to drum up. It was back now, with a vengeance, and seemed to grow louder, though still periodic. She focused on it now, frustrated, and tried to discern exactly what it was she was hearing, but something was pulling her away from that and from her dark, safe little haven from the pain. Desperately, she fought to stay where she was but it would not relent, then abruptly it stopped altogether and she was left with nothing but absolute silence. Something was different, though, and she couldn't figure out what it was. There was a different feel to the darkness. It wasn't as empty. There was something there- something familiar.

* * *

Minutes ticked by like hours and he held her tight, desperately hoping whatever he had found had worked like he wanted it to. His heart stopped when her faint, labored breaths stopped and for several agonizing seconds he held his breath and stared at her. Then abruptly, she took a deep breath and her breathing returned to something a little more normal, though he could still plainly see she was not entirely out of the woods yet. It was only then that he carefully lifted her into his arms and took her up to the bed, lifting the back of her top to dress the wound that looked only the slightest bit better.

He sat by her bedside and waited impatiently, watching over her. Several times he wondered if it would do any good to take her to a priestess in the hold, but he wondered if they would do anything if they found out she was a vampire. He wasn't sure they would, but he didn't want to risk them turning her in to the guards or the Dawnguard if they did. Angrily, Tharin punched the table and doubled over, his head in his hands and that was how he remained through most of the day.

When the sun faded behind the mountains, Tharin awoke. He hadn't intended to sleep and he was even angrier with himself for allowing himself to fall asleep but then he realized what had actually awoken him. There was movement from the bed and he could hear a faint moan of pain and looked up to see her hand resting on her forehead, brushing the light curls away from her face. She was rousing and looked very confused.

"What happened?" she muttered, her voice groggy and so unlike the sound he was used to.

"I don't know." He replied, rueful of his answer. "I was hoping you remembered."

She was silent for many long moments and then she cleared her throat and spoke. "I remember nursing a hangover and then I felt pain. I tried to fight my attacker, but I collapsed and that's… pretty much all I remember."

Tharin had a lapse in judgment for a fraction of a second and started to ask why someone would attack her, but then he snapped back to reality. The Dawnguard wanted her dead because she was a vampire. The Thalmor probably wanted them both dead because of what happened at the embassy, and the vampires were looking for her too. The fact was, she seemed to have more enemies than friends and unless they caught the person who had done this in the midst of an attack, if there was another, they wouldn't be able to find out who was behind it.

He must've lost himself in his thoughts because when he looked up again, Freya was clambering out of bed. He tried to stop her, but a look silenced him and he promptly stifled any protest he might have been considering voicing in favor of another approach.

"So what should we do?"

"I think we were planning on going to see the Greybeards, weren't we?"

He nodded.


End file.
